


Only Human

by Anonymous_Introvert78



Series: NCT Hurt/Comfort [2]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Disorder, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Huang Ren Jun-centric, I Promise it Ends Happy, Members fighting, Panic Attacks, Sasaeng Fan(s), Stress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2019-10-23 23:01:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17692796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonymous_Introvert78/pseuds/Anonymous_Introvert78
Summary: “And remember not to work too hard!”“Bye, hyung.”Renjun ended the call, staring at Mark’s contact photo for a few moments before setting the phone aside and staring down at the papers strewn messily over the entirety of his desk. At the schedule timetable, the medical check-up information, the choreography notes, the half-finished lyrics and the homeless quavers scrawled hastily on the manuscript paper.“I’ve got this,” he whispered into the silence.~~~Requested by Na_Juno~~~





	1. Huang Renjun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inutile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inutile/gifts).



> Juno, I hope this is what you were looking for! Thank you for the request. I'm really happy to gift this to you!

I'm writing a twenty-one-part (yes, twenty-one-part) series! One story for each member because I'm overly ambitious and honestly? I just really wanted to see if it could be done. 

I already had this story in my repertoire so I've just labelled it as the first in the series and the rest are yet to come. 

**TRIGGER WARNING!!!!!!!**

This story contains potentially triggering content such as panic attacks and suicidal ideation so if there is a chance that those things will upset or offend you then I urge you to reconsider whether or not this story is right for you. 


	2. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song Recommendation:  
> "Gravity" by Monsta X

            When Mark left Dream, it was like the whole country went into mourning. There were videos up online flowing with sentimentality and they had all cried at the final Meet & Greet even though they knew he would just be in a different dorm. It wasn’t like he was dying, but it did feel like there was a hole in their ranks whenever they congregated downstairs for dinner. Like they weren’t complete.

And after Donghyuck had left with 127 for their tour, the gaps in their foundations only seemed to stretch further until they were almost falling through into oblivion. It almost felt like some evil deity watching from the skies was picking them off one by one.

So when the phone buzzed against the desktop, the whole wooden structure vibrating along with it, not even the exhaustion layering Renjun like a blanket was enough to keep the smile from stretching over his tired face.

“Hyung?” he chirped as he answered the call. “How’s the tour?”

“Oh my god, Ren,” came Mark’s satisfied sigh from the other end and Renjun could literally see him throwing himself onto his bed. “There’s nothing like it. It feels like … I don’t know, I just feel so powerful.”

“Okay, no need to brag,” Renjun snapped back but his grin was still in place and there was a warm sense of satisfaction seeping through him at the thought of his hyungs having the time of their lives in front of a crowd of thousands, all screaming their names. “I’m getting jealous over here.”

There was a stretch of silence so bizarre that Renjun found himself frowning. It wasn’t like Mark not to have something to say. Usually he was falling out of his chair in his eagerness to spread whatever news he had somehow manage to contain. But when his hyung spoke, he realised what the matter was.

“Renjun, you sound really tired,” he said, unaware of his little brother’s smirk of affectionate exasperation. Mark never missed anything. “You’re not stressing yourself out over this new album, are you?”

“No. Hyung, I’m fine.”

“Good,” Mark responded but Renjun could tell he didn’t believe him. “Because your health comes first, okay? Remember that.”

Renjun exaggerated the frustration in his overly dramatic groan as he leaned back in his chair and allowed his head to hang over the back, his neck aching with the position. “Yes, hyung, I will remember to medicate and meditate.”

The sun got a little brighter at the sound of Mark’s soft chuckle from the other end of the line. Renjun only wished there wasn’t an entire airplane-ride distance between them so he could hear that laugh for himself.

“Okay, Ren, I’ve got to go,” Mark spoke up and Renjun nodded sadly before remembering that his hyung couldn’t see him.

“Alright. Get some sleep.”

“Sure thing. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Bye, hyung.”

“And remember not to work too hard!”

“ _Bye,_ hyung.”

Renjun ended the call, staring at Mark’s contact photo for a few moments before setting the phone aside and staring down at the papers strewn messily over the entirety of his desk. At the schedule timetable, the medical check-up information, the choreography notes, the half-finished lyrics and the homeless quavers scrawled hastily on the manuscript paper.

“I’ve got this,” he whispered into the silence.

Sure, it was hard being a leader. It was desperately difficult to juggle his own training as well as the training of all his members. Because they were his now. They weren’t Mark’s because Mark had moved on and left them and now he, Renjun, was the eldest and he was responsible for everything.

There was a whole fandom waiting with baited breath to see what kind of leader he was going to be. If he was capable of doing as great a job as Mark or Taeyong or Kun. So many legacies to continue, so many expectations to meet, so many kids relying on his ability to make their careers seamlessly easy. But it was going to be fine. He had it under control.

“I’ve got this.”

 

\-------------------

 

            Renjun jerked awake so violently that he hit his knee on the underside of the desk. Cursing and gripping the throbbing limb to his chest, he swivelled in his chair to see the source of the commotion that had disturbed his much-needed slumber and scowled at the poorly-concealed smirk standing in the doorway.

“Morning?” Jaemin asked, lips quivering as he tried not to laugh at the purely murderous expression on Renjun’s face.

“I am going to put arsenic in your Cheerios,” Renjun hissed back, stretching his arms above his head and groaning with uncomfortable euphoria as his stiffened joints popped satisfyingly loud. “What time is it?”

“It’s 7:30,” Jaemin supplied, stepping further into the room to inspect the mountain of paperwork Renjun had been pouring over until he’d finally succumbed to exhaustion. “Ren, you weren’t up all night doing this, right? How much did you sleep?”

“I got a solid eight minutes,” Renjun joked, expression deadpanned and eyes closing for a few more seconds of feeble snoozing. “Not consecutively but that’s okay. You’re not even that blurry.”

His fatigued prod at humour was not appreciated by the mother hen that towered over him, sorting through the schedules and timetables that had taken his brother’s precious sleeping time.

“Ren, I thought we agreed that Jeno and I were going to help you with this stuff,” he scolded and Renjun gave a huff of irritation.

“I’m the oldest. It’s my responsibility.”

Jaemin cuffed him over the head. “The three of us are the same age. It’s all of our responsibilities.”

Renjun peeled his eyelids apart and craned his head back to look into Jaemin’s stern face, reaching up to prod his friend’s nose in an attempt to see a smile. He succeeded.

“You’re an idiot,” Jaemin smirked as he dragged a weakly protesting Renjun from his chair and steered him towards the kitchen where the smell of toast and bacon were starting to drift down the hallway.

He pushed him into his seat at the table and shoved the cereal box in his direction, leaning down to whisper in his brother’s ear so quietly that the others wouldn’t hear, “Just remember that you don’t have to take on everything by yourself.”

Renjun gave him a half-hearted thumbs up as a wave of milk sloshed over his bowl of carbonated sugar, knowing full well that he wasn’t going to listen to a word his dongsaeng said. He was going to show Mark just how good a leader he was going to be.

He didn’t know then that he was going to fail. He didn’t know then what it was going to do to him to try.

 

\--------------------

           Renjun was late for practise. He’d fallen asleep in the recording studio, trying his hardest to somehow turn the cacophony of random notes and dodgy basslines into coherent music, and when the vibration of his phone against his leg had finally woken him up, he’d realised he should have been at the dance studio almost forty minutes ago.

He spat a dozen curse words at the computer screen as he saved his pathetic attempts at producing and sprinted up the stairs, bursting through the practise room door to see the rest of his members playing bottle flip in the middle of the polished floors.

“There you are!” Jeno cried jubilantly, throwing his arms in the air in cheery greeting. “I tried calling you but you didn’t pick up? What were you doing?”

“Working,” Renjun panted, shrugging off his jacket and running a hand through his hair to comb the sweaty strands out of his eyes. “Why aren’t you practising?”

“We were waiting for you,” Chenle supplied before his water bottle landed perfectly upright after a graceful somersault and he threw himself onto Jisung with a scream of victory.

Renjun didn’t know where the anger came from but suddenly, he was seething. Yes, he had been late and, yes, that was unforgiveable, but they should have been rehearsing in his absence. Now they’d wasted precious time that could have been spent perfecting moves and synchronising jumps and planning choreo for the new songs he was trying to write.

He strode forwards, anger paramount, and the kids leapt back with a squeal of fright as their hyung ploughed through their ranks to give the water bottle a violent kick. The plastic shot across the floor, spinning on its ridged side before colliding with the mirror and splattering the reflective glass with tiny little droplets.

“Hyung!” Jisung cried, staring up at Renjun with a mixture of irritation and confusion. “What was that for?”

“We need to practise,” was all Renjun snapped as he continued marching until he reached the music in the corner of the room.

He clicked the first song on the playlist without even properly registering what it was but when “Go!” started playing, he was in position by the fourth beat. The others obeyed his silent orders without question, instantly plunging into the routine that had long since been ingrained in their minds, but Renjun didn’t miss the sideways glances they were shooting his way.

He knew he shouldn’t have snapped. He was just tired and stressed and unbelievably overworked but it was fine because he had it under control. All he needed was a better sleeping schedule and a handle on what he was supposed to be doing at what times, and then they would be fine.

They would practise so hard and so well that when Donghyuck got back from the tour, he would be blown away by their uniformity and perfection. That was what Renjun wanted. That was the kind of leader he wanted to be.

So when Chenle messed up the same sequence for the umpteenth time, the leader snapped. Because they had to be spotless. They had to be flawless and unanimous and incapable of being faulted. And Chenle was messing all that up.

“Chenle!” he yelled, slightly louder than he had originally intended but it had the desired effect in getting the younger’s attention.

“I know,” Chenle groaned, scrubbing his hand over his face in frustration and smiling weakly when Jisung patted him comfortingly on the shoulder. “I’m trying, hyung. I’ll get it eventually.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jaemin piped up from the front, stooping down to take a swig from his water. “We’ve got nearly two months before the next comeback is due.”

“Let’s go again,” Renjun snapped, storming back to the iPod to restart the song once more.

“Hyung,” Chenle started and Renjun did his best to ignore him. He really did. “What’s going on with you?”

Renjun didn’t want to yell at him. He didn’t want to yell at anybody but he felt like he was carrying the weight of the world on his skinny malnourished shoulders and every time a single pebble joined the pile, he got closer and closer to collapsing underneath his burden. Chenle was just one of those pebbles.

“I think the more pressing question is what the hell is going on with you!” he exploded, whipping around to glare at each and every one of their stunned faces. And it only made him angrier. As if they didn’t know they were being lazy and useless when the fans were relying on them to be hardworking and dedicated. “I feel like I’m the only one here who actually cares about my career anymore!”

Chenle looked about ready to cry, his knees wobbling ever so slightly as he stared at his hyung with an inordinate amount of hurt in his watering eyes. Renjun knew why, he had never yelled at the kid before – he had never really yelled at anybody before – but he couldn’t stop whatever demon was manifesting inside of him, ordering him to rip their trembling foundations to shreds.

“This is important!” he continued to rage, pointing his finger at the second youngest’s chest with so much venom in his voice that he was surprised Chenle didn’t just drop dead on the spot. “And if you can’t handle a single dance step then what are you even doing here?”

“That’s enough!” Jeno roared as whatever barrier Chenle had managed to set up inside of him broke and he turned away from them to hide the tears.

Renjun was stunned. He had made his little brother cry. The thought disgusted him. He couldn’t understand what kind of poison must have blossomed in his brain to have distorted his personality so dramatically that he was suddenly capable of making kids cry. He was so lost in his own guilt, watching as Jisung put his arm around Chenle’s shaking shoulders, that he didn’t realise Jeno was speaking until the boy was right in his face.

“Get out.”

“What?” Renjun gulped, staring up at him with devastated incredulity painted in his lined features.

“I said get out,” Jeno shouted. “What gives you the right to speak to him like that? Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“I …” Renjun stuttered, lips forming mismatched shapes in his desperate search for the appropriate words that could possibly convey how horribly sorry he was. “Chennie, I …”

He started forwards, intending to circle around Jeno to envelop Chenle in his arms, but the taller boy stepped to the side, blocking Renjun’s bid for the child with his arms folded and his expression thunderous.

“I said get out.”

Renjun didn’t know what was happening. In all these years of being together, they had never once fought like this: completely divided with a lone survivor on one side and all the rest on the other. He had never felt so alone.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered before he dived for the door, his tears already starting to breach their barriers. “I’m sorry for everything.”


	3. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song Recommendation:  
> "She's A Baby" by Zico (Block B)

             He couldn’t breathe.

He didn’t know what was happening or why or how. All he knew was that he couldn’t breathe. His chest hurt like … he couldn’t even describe how badly it hurt. Tight and sharp and squeezing and crushing and every other word that all contributed to the crippling sensation that he was suffocating.

The tap in the bathroom was running but Renjun had sunk to his knees long ago, one hand braced on the sink’s porcelain rim and the other clutching at his throat. His fingernails were clawing at his skin as though he could somehow break a hole in his oesophagus and let the air into his starving lungs.

But he couldn’t breathe.

He wondered if this was what a heart attack felt like. He wondered if this _was_ a heart attack. If his arteries were blocked because his stress had pumped his blood pressure through the roof and now he was about to die on the bathroom floor in his company building with his members only a hallway away, completely oblivious.

Everything was too much. Each tiny movement was agony, his fingers were tingling and his head was spinning and he was terrified that it was his body telling him he was about to pass out. Pass out and die.

And all he could think about was Chenle’s hunched figure wrapped in Jisung’s arms as the kid sobbed into the maknae’s chest. Renjun had caused those tears and now this was his punishment.

He had no idea how he managed to get to his phone but suddenly the dial tone was buzzing louder than the sound of his own hyperventilation. He didn’t know who he was calling or what he was going to say when the call connected but all he could think was that somebody needed to find his body on the bathroom floor.

“Renjun?”

His vision was fading out. He couldn’t see anything except white popping lights and by now he was lying on the ground with the phone just inches from his face and yet his mouth wouldn’t form the cry for help that he needed.

“Renjun, are you there?”

It hurt so much. And he could no longer feel his legs. And he was going to die without being able to apologise to Chenle and the others.

“Renjunnie, I can hear heavy breathing, is that you?”

He wanted to cry out. To tell whoever this was that, yes, it was him and he was dying on a bathroom floor without being able to apologise to Chenle and the others but he couldn’t get a single word out and his head was so fuzzy now and he was certain he was going to pass out and …

“Rennie, I’m going to start counting and I want you to breathe in until I stop, okay?”

Didn’t this person understand? He could not breathe. He was dying. He needed a hospital, not whatever hippy dippy meditation technique this was.

“One … Two … Three …”

He tried. He really, really tried to force his diaphragm to contract and allow oxygen to filter into the lungs he wasn’t sure were even there anymore. But it was too tight and too painful and he was going to die on a bathroom floor without being able to apologise to Chenle and the others.

“Four … Five … Six …”

The sink must have overflowed because now he was underwater and he could barely hear the distorted words crackling through the speakers of the phone that he couldn’t even see anymore.

“Seven. That’s it, good job, Rennie. Now breathe out until I stop counting.”

Good job? He was dying. He was dying on a bathroom floor without being able to apologise to Chenle and the others. The only job he was doing was asphyxiating and considering how long it was taking, he didn’t think he was good at even that.

“One … Two … Three … You’re doing so well, keep going … Four …”

And yet somehow, he was breathing out. He was listening to the numbers, spoken so softly that his body just seemed to absorb them, flowing through his veins and gifting his lungs with the gentleness they needed to inflate.

“Five … Six … Seven … Eight … Nine …”

He was too tired to hyperventilate any longer and so his body had just given up. It had felt like dying but really he was just too exhausted to continue his own self-strangulation. His fingers still tingled and his head still felt like it was full of cotton wool but the sight of the bathroom stalls were starting to clarify. Their edges were no longer as blurred and he could even count the toilet rolls in the corner.

“Good job, Rennie. Good job. Take your time now and talk to me when you’re ready. I’m right here.”

Renjun felt drained. Completely and utterly sapped of all the calories he’d consumed that day. Admittedly, that wasn’t very many. As he thought about it, he couldn’t remember if he’d eaten anything since breakfast and the growl of his stomach craving sustenance confirmed his theory. He was starving.

“Whenever you’re ready, Ren. I’m going to stay right here until I know you’re okay. I’m right here.”

His voice was so croaky when he spoke, like it was made of sandpaper, and it pained him just to listen to it as he choked out his first words. “…thanks…”

“Oh, God, I was about to call an ambulance,” came his saviour from the other end and it was only then that Renjun recognised Sicheng. It made sense. As the hyung he was closest with, Sicheng would have been at the top of his speed dial list. “Are you okay, Renjunnie?”

“Yeah,” Renjun lied as he used his elbow to prop himself into a sitting position. “I’m okay now.”

“Why don’t I believe you?”

Renjun didn’t have the strength to reply. He just flopped against the wall, head tipping backwards until it hit solid plaster and his chest heaving as he regained the air he’d lost.

“Ren, I’m really worried. If you don’t tell me what’s going on, I’m getting on a plane right now and coming back to Korea.”

“No!” Renjun cried, clamping a hand over his mouth when his sudden outburst prompted a violent coughing fit. “No, don’t do that, hyung. Please don’t do that. I’m fine, really. I promise.”

“You’re lying to me,” Sicheng shot back and it was clear from his tone that he was hurt. “When did you start lying to me?”

“I’m not lying,” Renjun pleaded, too exhausted to bother putting up a decent fight and just wanting to curl up into a ball to cry his eyes out until he died of dehydration. He searched his addled mind for some factitious story he could come up with to disguise the ever-increasing anxiety building up in his chest.

“Okay, that’s it,” came Sicheng’s decisive tone. “I’m booking my flight right now.”

“I had a fight with Jeno,” Renjun blurted, thankful that at least he wasn’t completely lying to his hyung. He always hated that. It felt like betrayal for everything the older boy had ever done for him. “It was something really stupid and it got out of hand and I’m going to go back to the dorm right now and apologise to him. So don’t you dare come home.”

Sicheng’s sigh seemed to be strong enough to vibrate the entire phone.

“Okay, Renjun,” he puffed out, and for the first time in his life, Renjun found himself craving the sound of the nickname everyone had christened him with. It felt safe, kind, loving. And right now, he felt none of those things. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, hyung. I’m sure. I’m sorry for bothering you. What are you even doing right now?”

Sicheng snorted with laughter. “Preparing to go on stage in two minutes.”

Renjun blanched, grabbing for the phone that still lay discarded on the floor so he could bring it closer to his face. “Then hang up the phone, hyung, and get on stage. What the fuck are you doing talking to me?”

“Okay, calm down,” Sicheng chuckled back at him. “I’m going now.”

“Good.”

“But remember that you can call me at any time and I’ll always pick up.”

“Goodbye, hyung.”

“I love –”

But Renjun had already hung up, before Sicheng could finish, and the kid found himself wishing with every fibre of strength in his failing body that he had just let his hyung complete his sentence. He’d had no idea how much he needed those words until they were snatched right out from underneath him.

“I love you, too,” he whispered into the bathroom silence.  

 

\-----------------

 

           It was fifteen minutes before he managed to regain enough feeling in his legs to drag himself to his feet and even then, he felt like he was made from the pages of a Bible: thin and wispy and able to rip with just a whistle of wind.

“Pull yourself together,” he hissed under his breath, planting his hands either side of the sink’s rim and staring at his puffy-eyed, red-faced, hideously-ugly reflection in the mirror. “Pull yourself the fuck together.”

He was not a child anymore. He was officially an adult and now he was the leader. If Mark could see him now, he would be drowning in disappointment and shame because of how badly his little brother had tarnished his legacy. Renjun was stronger than this. He could do this. Whatever ‘this’ was, he had the ability to see it through.

It took another five minutes before he managed to totter to the dance studio, using the walls for support and furiously scrubbing at his face to try and hide any evidence of whatever kind of breakdown he’d just had. He didn’t want the others to see his weakness when he was trying to mend the bridges between them that he’d so viciously torn down merely an hour previously.

“Hello?” he croaked, hating the fragility in his own voice as he pushed open the dance studio door and frowned when he heard no hint of laughter or music. He slipped into the room and stopped, the door clattering shut behind him with a noise loud enough to make him jump.

Jisung was the only one in there, airpods dug firmly into his ears as he twisted and leapt and twirled and … did whatever the hell that was, to the melody that only he could hear. He had his eyes closed most of the time but occasionally, he would open them and watch his reflection in the vast expanse of mirror against the wall.

And Renjun was reminded just how strong his maknae was as he watched the muscles contort under the kid’s skin and his arms support his entire body weight when he rolled effortlessly backwards onto his hands. He was going to be brilliant. Someday, he was going to be spectacular, and now it was Renjun’s job to build him his stepping stones.

He waited until Jisung finished the song, crouched on his knees with his shoulders hunched and heaving as he restored oxygen to his lungs. He raised his head, grinning at his own flushed face in the mirror before his eyes were drawn to the alienated figure by the door.

Renjun would have traded his soul not to have seen the brief flash of fear on the kid’s face as he ripped the earbuds from their sockets and whipped around to face his hyung, clambering quickly to his feet.

“Hyung, I …” he stuttered, fidgeting from foot to foot as he tried to look anywhere but the place where Renjun stood. “I’m sorry about earlier. Chenle-hyung was just … He was just tired and he didn’t mean to mess up and Jeno-hyung didn’t mean to yell and …”

“I know, Jisung,” Renjun soothed, holding up his hands to show he meant no harm as he stepped further into the room. “You have nothing to be sorry for and neither do the others. I was the one who overreacted and I need to apologise properly. Where are they?”

“They went home,” the maknae supplied, his posture deflating slightly in relief at Renjun’s confession of forgiveness. “Lele-hyung was … He was upset so the other hyungs took him home.”

Renjun swallowed. Chenle had been upset enough to ditch practise. Renjun had done that to him. And now they’d gone back to the dorm. They had placed a barrier between them and him and solidified this as an official argument. An official fight. Where he had hurt Chenle badly.

The word guilt didn’t even begin to cover it anymore.

“It’s 7pm,” Jisung suddenly announced, snapping Renjun from his internal soliloquy. “Manager-hyung’s waiting outside to take me back.”

He collected his belongings from the corner of the room and started towards the door, faltering when Renjun made no move to accompany him.

“Aren’t you coming?”

Renjun shook his head, blank and numb and lifeless in the way he just stood there like a sim waiting for instructions. “No, I’ll stay here tonight. I … I need to work.”

He willed Jisung to contradict him. To tell him that he didn’t need to be afraid of coming home because the others weren’t really mad at him and all would be fine if they just wrapped their arms around each other and apologised until they were blue in the face. To tell him that he didn’t need to spend another night in the studio, staring at a computer screen until his eyes popped out of his skull and he felt like he was going blind.

But Jisung just left. Renjun couldn’t blame him. He’d told him to.  


	4. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JUNG JAEHYUN!!!  
> The perfect boy to be born on Valentine's Day. Please be happy and healthy and keep singing with that incredible voice of yours.
> 
> Song Recommendation:  
> "My Style" by Astro

        Renjun made his breakthrough at three in the morning when suddenly the light just seemed to stream from behind those impenetrable clouds and he knew exactly which note needed to go where and what words needed to be sung when and it was perfect. He listened to the melody interweaving through the bass with grace and beauty and he was in awe of his sudden ability.

It felt like everything was worth it. Like it was okay that he’d fought with the others because now he had something really, really good, and the moment they heard it, they would know how hard he’d been working to help their next album grow its wings. He would apologise for his behaviour and they would put all of this behind them.

He didn’t realise it was 8am until there was a tentative knock on the door and a timid squeak of “Renjun-hyung?” from the other side.

“Yeah?” he called, swivelling in his chair to meet Chenle’s eyes as the kid shuffled nervously into the room, his eyebrows creased in wary concern and his sweaterpaws clutching at the front of his hoodie.

“I … I wanted to apologise for …”

Renjun didn’t let him finish. He levered himself, creaking and groaning with joints popping and back cracking, from the leather cushions and enveloped the tiny body in his equally tiny arms, squeezing as hard as he could.

“I should never have yelled at you, Chennie,” he croaked into Chenle’s hair, stroking his fingers through the fluffy mop in the hopes he could comb the guilt and the hostility from their bodies. “I’m so, so sorry.”

He felt Chenle nod into his shoulder and only when he pulled back did he realise Jaemin was watching him from the doorway, leaning on the frame with his arms folded and his mouth pressed in a thin line. But when he met his brother’s eye, he tilted his chin upwards in a silent indication that they were cool now. As long as Chenle had forgiven, so would the rest of them.

“Can I show you something?” Renjun asked, his excitement breaking through his exhaustion as he grabbed hold of Chenle and Jaemin’s hands and pulled them over to the computer screens set up against the far wall. “I’ve been working on this all night and I’m so proud of it.”

“That’s why you look half dead,” Jaemin quipped harshly, but there was the slight twitch of his lips as Renjun poked him reproachfully in the ribs before he clicked the PLAY button.

The music wafted through the speakers, swirling through the air as it drifted down their ear canals and wrapped itself around their very souls. Renjun watched with baited breath, scrutinising Jaemin and Chenle’s every facial expression. He saw the way their eyebrows rose at the bridge and how Chenle gave a little puff of breath when the last note warbled loud and long.

“It’s beautiful, hyung,” the kid said, turning to look up at Renjun with a kind of hero worship vibe resonating off him. “Have you sent it to Manager-hyung?”

“I was just about to,” Renjun beamed back, his grin only widening as Jaemin clapped him on the back. “He’s been pushing for me to finish this and I really thought I was going to pass the deadline.”

“He’s going to be thrilled with this,” Jaemin promised him and at the sight of his proud smile, Renjun completely forgot that he’d been awake for twenty-four hours and hadn’t eaten since yesterday morning. He completely forgot about everything that wasn’t his friends’ acknowledging his hard work.

He reached for the phone sitting on the desk, and that’s when it happened. That’s when the snowball was pushed and its rocky descent began, building in size and speed until it crushed them under its weight.

His elbow knocked against the can of coke he’d stupidly abandoned on the desk and it toppled, the frothy contents splattering over the keyboard with an angry hiss of bursting bubbles. The studio was filled with a vicious sizzling and tiny fireflies started bouncing from the plastic keys as the computer fritzed and the screen went black.

“No …” Renjun whispered under his breath, shoving the empty can onto the floor and frantically trying to soak up the moisture with his sleeve. “No, no, no, no!”

He seized the mouse, slamming it against the table in the desperate hope that he could somehow shake the electronics back to life, but they remained dead and dumb and dormant. And his song was gone.

“FUCK!” Renjun screamed, grabbing hold of the entire keyboard and hurling it across the room to watch it shatter satisfyingly against the wall, keys popping right out of their beds and pinballing across the floor.

Chenle gave a squeak of fright and pressed himself into the corner as Jaemin lunged forwards and grabbed Renjun by the elbows, bending his knees so that his face was in his brother’s line of sight in an attempt to calm his meltdown.

“Ren, it’s okay!” he shouted, but Renjun was too far gone.

All that work, all those hours, all that suffering and effort and exhaustion and now it was all gone, snatched right from his starving fingertips just as he thought everything was going to be okay.

“Let me go!” he shrieked in Jaemin’s face, tiny fists slamming against his friend’s chest as spittle flew from the tip of his tongue to paint moist polkerdots on both their shirts. “Get the fuck off me, Jaemin! Get the fuck off!”

“Chenle, get out of here!” Jaemin roared and Chenle was gone without a single complaint.

“It’s gone! It’s all gone! Everything’s gone!” Renjun sobbed with tears streaming down his cheeks and now both of them knew that it wasn’t just the song that was causing all of this.

It was all of it. Mark leaving and Donghyuck getting injured and then both of them going on tour with the hyungs and abandoning them on their own in a dorm that felt so big and empty. The manager calling them every night, suggesting interviews and requesting lyrical ideas and composition notes. It was too much, and now Renjun was breaking.

“Then we’ll write another one!” Jaemin shouted back, never loosening his grip on his hyung for fear Renjun would start hurting himself. “We’ll write another one together, all of us. It’s okay, Ren. It’s going to be okay.”

“No, it’s not!” Renjun bawled so loudly it sounded as if his throat might tear right in two. “It’s not okay! Nothing is okay! I’m supposed to be the leader and I’m just a fucking mess! I’m useless! I’m worthless! I … I can’t … I can’t breathe!”

That feeling was back: the elastic band around his chest and the iron fist clenching his heart until his blood stopped pumping and his lungs filled up with water and his airway collapsed and now he was on the floor with Jaemin’s arms around him and he couldn’t … He just couldn’t.

“No one said you had to be the leader,” Jaemin was saying, his voice distant and foggy and Renjun wondered if his friend even knew that he was dying. “No one ever told you that you had to do all of this on your own. We’re all here to help and you just keep pushing us away.”

He swivelled, releasing Renjun from the grip that was so desperately-needed and scooting on his knees until he was facing the smaller boy, hands reaching out to frame the tear-soaked face. And all Renjun could see in the eyes he would later find out had only been filled with love and concern, was anger and blame.

“So tell me what to do, Ren,” Jaemin whispered, and it was only then that Renjun realised his hyperventilating didn’t exist. He was drowning inside his own mind, silently and helplessly. And Jaemin didn’t know. “Tell me how I can help you.”

What followed next was one of the worst experiences of Renjun’s life. Looking back, he couldn’t think where it had come from or why he had chosen that moment to spew every single sliver of pent up frustration at the one person who was trying to help him, but before he knew what he was doing, he was shoving Jaemin away from him as he rose to his feet.

“You can get the fuck out of my face!” he yelled, still crying but too furious to care, still mourning the loss of his song. “I don’t need your pity and I don’t need your help! I just need you to fuck off!”

He turned away so that he wouldn’t have to see the hurt on Jaemin’s face. There was some inner voice clawing at his chest, screaming at him to stop and just accept the hand that was reaching out for him to take, but it was like he couldn’t even control his own body anymore.

Everything was both on fire and underwater at the same time. He was burning and he couldn’t breathe, and the only thing he could do was lash out and hope that he inflicted the same amount of pain onto Jaemin as he was feeling himself.

“Ren …”

“I said get the fuck out of here! I don’t want to look at you! Just fucking leave me alone!”

He spun around, planted his hands in Jaemin’s chest and shoved him with all his might, watching with a kind of sick satisfaction as his best friend – former best friend – stumbled backwards and threw out his arms in an attempt to catch himself before he crashed to the floor.

“Fuck off,” he finished with a spit of poisoned ferocity, and Jaemin spent several seconds regaining his composure on the floor of the studio before he finally garnered the strength to pull himself to his feet.

“Okay,” he said coolly, straightening his jacket and running a hand through his messy hair. “Whatever you say.”

But the moment he was alone in the room with keyboard letters littering the floor and a black computer screen stewing in a swamp of coca cola, Renjun realised he desperately wanted Jaemin to come back. To wrap him in his arms even if he fought against the act of comfort. To tell him that he wasn’t going anywhere even if Renjun screamed until he was blue in the face. To tell him that no matter what he did, he would never leave him alone.

But for the second time in the last twenty-four hours, the person he had silently been pleading with to save him had walked straight out of the door, and Renjun had nobody to blame but himself.  

 

\----------------

 

           When the manager called him six hours later, he had done nothing but sit in the very corner of the room, hugging his knees with his head leaning against the wall and his eyes puffy and sore. And not only did he have to tell the irate man on the other end of the line that he had no work to hand over to him but that he’d also completely destroyed some very expensive software.

To say his manager yelled at him would have been an understatement. Renjun just took it. He sat there and just took it, choking on his sobs and clutching at his chest in the hope that his nails digging into the fabric of his shirt would somehow lessen the pain building up around his heart. It did not.

He felt broken. He felt like nothing he did would ever be good enough for his boss, his members and himself. He had butchered Mark’s legacy. His hyung would be ashamed of him. Chenle was scared at him. He’d screamed at Jaemin. Everything was falling apart when he’d thought it was supposed to get better.

He wanted to go home.

Fingers slick with his own tears, his phone slipped from his grasp before he managed to sustain a grip firm enough to allow him to punch in the numbers he needed. He stared down at Jeno’s caller ID, listening to the dial tone droning in bored couplets and whispering hushed prayers under his breath.

_Please don’t ask questions. Please just answer the phone and come and get me. Please answer the phone._

But after a solid thirty seconds of flat humming, the call went straight to voicemail and Renjun felt like the last finger that had been keeping him from falling had just been stomped on. Jeno hadn’t picked up the call. Jeno had left him here. Jaemin had left him here. Chenle had left him here. They’d all just left him. Mark, Donghyuck, Taeyong, Sicheng. Maybe he was just that person that everybody loved to leave.

It took another forty-five minutes before he felt he was strong enough to stand up. Hours’ worth of sobbing and choking and drowning on air even though he felt like he didn’t have enough, had drained every last calorie from his malnourished body and his hands trembled as he pulled the mask over his face and the beanie onto his filthy hair.

He knew that he wasn’t supposed to walk home. He was supposed to call a company car and get driven right to his front door to ensure that he wasn’t abducted or mugged or his picture wasn’t plastered all over the internet. But Jeno hadn’t answered his call. They were practising or playing or doing whatever it is they wanted to do without him.

So he walked home. Alone. With his eyes still streaming. He wondered if they’d ever even stopped. Every fibre of his being was telling him to just crumple onto the pavement and shrivel into a ball so small that no one would ever be able to find him again. To disappear. To die.

“Oh my God! It’s Renjun! Renjun-oppa! Renjun-oppa, I love you so much!”

She couldn’t have been older than him by more than two years but she was barely an inch shorter and, thanks to his fragile frame, would have been able to pin him to the ground if she so desired. Her face was beaming so brightly that it was almost hard to look at her and her eyes were sparkling with the kind of awe that Renjun saw so often.

On any other given day, that look would have made him smile his widest smile. He would have given her a hug, signed her bag, taken a selfie with her and then politely excused himself because harmless encounters with fans were the best kind of morale booster, especially after a bad day.

But today wasn’t just a bad today. Today was the worst day. Ever. And Renjun just couldn’t be that person who was immune to sadness and couldn’t be touched by shadows. He was frail and broken and weak and had only just managed to stop crying. He wasn’t at rock bottom, he had burrowed twenty feet into the rock and then let the boulders roll onto his crushed body.

“Renjun-oppa, I love you so much!” she screamed, skidding to a stop right in front of him and jumping from foot to foot as she clutched her hands to her chest and bounced in excitement. “You’re my absolute favourite! Oh my god, I can’t believe this is real! I love you so much!”

Renjun tried so desperately to smile convincingly, but it hurt. It physically hurt to stretch his muscles that far when the only thing they were capable of doing was spasming and shutting down. He wanted to take her hand and squeeze it hard and thank her for her words and her support but instead he found himself resisting the urge to burst into hysterics.

“I’m so sorry,” he choked out, taking a small step away from her with his hands raised in surrender. “I’m not feeling well. I’m so sorry.”

He tried to turn away, pleading, begging, hoping that she would just take the hint and leave him alone. But a hand closed around his wrist and he was whipped around so fast that he stumbled, almost losing his footing and plummeting onto the concrete of the backroad he’d taken to get back home.

“Oppa, can I just have one photo?” she pouted at him. “Just one?”

“I’m sorry …” Renjun stuttered, infuriated by the burning sensation building up behind his eyes as his vision started to blur with uninvited tears. “I’m so sorry but I really need to get home. Another time. I promise, another …”

He was cut off by the disgusting sound of flesh hitting flesh and his head snapped to the side, pain shooting up his neck as well as the blossom already blooming across his cheek. His hand jumped to his face, fingers gingerly caressing the spot where her palm had struck him and he found himself gawping at her with tears dribbling down his cheeks and his mouth hung open in a dumb expression of shock.

“You’re just another one of those selfish, arrogant bastards who use us fans to get popular but can’t be asked to be nice when there are no cameras around,” she spat at him, the adoration that had lathered her tone being replaced with venomous hatred.

Renjun couldn’t speak. He couldn’t say a single thing. He just wanted to go home.

“I’m going to make sure everybody knows what you’re really like,” she hissed, narrowed eyes boring into his soul and filling him with a kind of ice that froze his blood in his veins and sprouted icicles in his lungs.

He watched her turn on her heel and stalk off down the road, throwing him the middle finger as she went, and it was at that moment that he realised he couldn’t think of a single reason to live.

The world was spinning as he staggered onwards, not even aware if his feet were still carrying him in the right direction but just needing to move for fear that he might fade away if he stayed still for too long. The pain was back with a vengeance, crushing and crushing and crushing and crushing and it hurt so much and there was nothing he could do about it.

He wanted to go home but at the same time, he was afraid of finding the others waiting to yell at him. He wanted to call Sicheng but he was afraid of disturbing his hyung from another schedule. He wanted to die but he was afraid to make the move. He wanted so many things and yet he was afraid to do each and every one of them.

Rain had started falling but he couldn’t feel it. There were cars zooming past him, their horns blaring in frantic warning as they desperately swerved to avoid him, but he couldn’t see them. Lights were dancing in front of his eyes and he was no longer able to tell if they were headlights or something else.

Maybe they were his sins, taunting and tormenting him as they dipped and dived and popped and burst, blotting out his vision and making him forget how to walk in a straight line. His feet found stairs, solid stone underneath his numb toes, and his hand groped for the railing.

But his fingers never found it.

His legs gave out, knees folding in on themselves before they connected agonisingly hard with the sharp edge of the first few steps. He was conscious the entire time and yet couldn’t move a muscle to stop his frozen body from falling, tumbling over and over and over like a shot rabbit.

He felt like he hit every single stair, a different body part succumbing to the razor edges of slippery concrete each time he rolled over. He just kept falling. Falling down the steps that stretched on forever, plummeting towards a bottom he wasn’t sure even existed anymore and unable to do anything to stop it.

He was falling. In every sense of the word, he was falling. Until he wasn’t anymore.

Everything hurt but still he lay flat on his back, drawing as much comfort from the solid surface keeping him steady as he could. The rain pummelled his face but he kept his eyes wide open, oblivious to the droplets that pooled in the wells and stung his corneas. He was almost certain his wrist was broken, his face was bleeding, he wasn’t sure he could feel his legs anymore.

And he felt peaceful.

He felt like it was okay to close his eyes and go to sleep. For thirty-two hours, his brain had not had a single minute to shut down and recuperate. He was long overdue. He was going to sleep. Just for a little while. Or maybe forever.  


	5. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song Recommendation:  
> "Take Me To You" by Got7
> 
> Drama Recommendation:  
> "Doctors"

        Jaemin ended the call, his phone clutched in a hand so sweaty he was surprised the device hadn’t slid straight out of his grip, and turned to where Jeno was seated on the couch, hands on his elbows and posture leant forwards in terrified anticipation.

“Manager-hyung said he left four hours ago.”

Jeno swore under his breath, raking his fingers through his hair and pushing himself to his feet to resume the frantic pacing he’d only just managed to stop. Jaemin understood. He was on the verge of losing it too. Renjun had been messed up for days and now he was missing. They would be crazy not to be panicking.

“I’m going to call the police,” Jeno decided, reaching for his phone with a hand trembling so violently that he almost dropped it.

Jaemin didn’t stop him. His mind was addled with images of Renjun floating lifelessly in a river or lying beaten and bloody in the street. Or hanging from a rope in his studio. He was petrified that he had left his brother to self-destruct just because a few nasty words had been sent his way. If something happened to Renjun, it would be his fault.

There was a metallic scratching sound from the front porch that had their backs straightening on high alert and fingers hovering over the emergency numbers but then the door crashed open and Renjun staggered onto the doormat.

He was drenched to the skin, hair plastered to his forehead and clothes clinging to his shivering body as he stumbled forwards, a bruised wrist clutched to his chest and diluted blood concentrated with rain water rolling down his face from the gash above his eyebrow.

For several long moments, none of them moved. They stood there, staring at each other with a kind of stunned disbelief until Jaemin was the first one to snap out of it.

“Oh thank God!” he cried out, choking down a sob as he lunged forwards and pulled Renjun into his arms. “Thank God … Thank God … Thank God …”

He cupped the back of Renjun’s head, smoothing through the tangled clumps of sodden hair and tightening his grip when he felt the smaller boy’s jaw shuddering against his chest. The kid was freezing, crying and gasping and bleeding and bruised and it was all Jaemin’s fault.

“I’m so sorry, Ren,” he sobbed, feeling Jeno’s strong arms join the embrace as they somehow managed to encompass both bodies in their hold. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have left you. I knew you were hurting and I never should have left and I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

It felt like the heavens opened when Renjun managed to force out his first words, muffled by Jaemin’s shirt and distorted by his chattering teeth, but still somehow decipherable.

“… cold …”

“Okay,” Jaemin said, pulling away from him and rubbing his hands against Renjun’s upper arms as he gave Jeno a look that clearly said, _go turn the shower on._

Jeno nodded in understanding, pressing his lips into the back of Renjun’s head before speeding from the room, the sound of water pounding against porcelain echoing from the bathroom merely seconds later.

Jaemin took Renjun’s face in his hands, turning it up towards the light so he could inspect the source of the bleeding. The cut wasn’t that long, barely even an inch, and it couldn’t have been deep enough to need stitches but it looked painful and raw and contaminated with dirt and it broke Jaemin’s heart in two.

He pulled the boy in front of him back into an embrace, repeating whispered mantras into the frozen ear with his eyes screwed shut and his hands fisted in the back of Renjun’s shirt.

“I’m going to look after you now. You’re not alone. I wasn’t there before but I am now. I promise. I swear on my life. I’m going to look after you.”

He didn’t wait for the reply he knew wasn’t coming as he looped his arm around Renjun’s shoulders and guided him gently towards the promise of warm water and band aids.

“I’m here now.”

 

\------------------

 

          Renjun had tried to apologise for his behaviour the past few days but they had shot him down at once. The shower had massaged the numbness from his bones and washed the blood and grime from his eyes and fingernails, and as soon as he was cocooned in a blanket, Jaemin had lowered him onto the sofa while Jisung ran for the first aid kit.

“Let me see,” Jaemin muttered as he took Renjun’s chin and lifted his face to get a good look at the gash above his eye. It didn’t look nearly as bad now that there weren’t tiny pieces of stone and grains of dirt embedded in the fleshy crevice. “It’s okay, Ren. It’s not serious.”

Renjun just nodded. For so long, he had felt blank and empty, like there was something missing but he couldn’t remember what is was. He didn’t even remember how he had managed to gather the strength to stagger back home or why he hadn’t just thrown himself off the nearest bridge but now that he was here with Chenle’s head on his shoulder and Jaemin’s gentle fingers caressing his bruised wrist, he finally knew what that missing puzzle piece was.

“Do we need a hospital?” Jisung whispered from where he crouched beside Jaemin, Bambi eyes zapping between his hyungs as he tried to read the expressions on their faces. “Should I call an ambulance?”

“No!” Renjun snapped, surprised by the ferocity in his own voice. Jisung cringed at the harshness of the tone and Renjun instantly curled in on himself, guilt-ridden and mortified. “I don’t want a hospital,” he whispered feebly.

“I don’t think you’ll need one,” Jaemin soothed as he carefully wrapped a pressure bandage around his brother’s discoloured and misshapen wrist. “Not right now anyway. I’m pretty sure it’s not broken but you’re going to need an X-Ray at some point.”

“Why are you doing this?”

They all looked up at him with faces distorted into a mixture of confusion and shock at the sound of the faint question coming from a boy who looked like he’d been dragged through the mire, thrown into the road, run over by a car and then stampeded on by a herd of buffalo.

“What do you mean, hyung?”

“Why are you doing this?” Renjun clarified thickly, raising his head to look Jaemin in the eye. “Why do you care?”

There were three seconds of silence – three beats of stunned mutism – before Jaemin just shook his head and returned to his nursing, sucking in a frustrated breath between his teeth. The act only confirmed Renjun’s suspicion: they hated him. The only reason they were helping was because they didn’t want the guilt of knowing he’d died of hypothermia or pneumonia.

“That’s a stupid question,” Jaemin spat coldly, but his touch was still so warm and comforting. “I thought you were smarter than that.”

At the sight of Renjun’s blank expression, he clarified with much more tenderness lathering his words.  

“We’re doing this because we love you, you fucking moron. It’ll take a little more than a few fights to change that.”

Renjun was spared an answer he knew he couldn’t give by the sound of the front door opening and Jeno’s soft voice drifting from the hallway, accompanied by scuffling feet, hushed conversation and the sound of coats being shrugged off of bustling bodies.

“Who’s that?” Renjun whispered sharply, his addled mind imagining their manager storming into the room and readying to string him up by the throat for failing to provide the song he’d promised he’d make. “Who’s here?”

“It’s okay, hyung,” Jisung promised, rubbing his finger back and forth over Renjun’s knee. “It’s just Taeyong-hyung and Mark-hyung.”

Renjun stared at him, then at Chenle and then at Jaemin, unsure whether to feel surprise, betrayal or thankfulness. Why had they called the hyungs? They were supposed to be on tour. They were busy. They needed rest and practise and they did not need to be worrying about his worthless ass.

“We had to,” Chenle murmured, as if he could read Renjun’s mind. “You need help, Rennie-hyung.”

“Renjun?”

Renjun’s icy exterior melted the second Jaemin moved aside to let Mark and Taeyong crouch down in front of him. The resilient walls he had built up around his emotions crumbled and he burst into tears, clinging to his hyungs’ shirts as the both of them flung their arms around him.

They had left him. They had abandoned him without instructions or orders or a manual to tell him how the hell to be a leader but now they were back and they were hugging him and that was all that he needed. To be hugged and hushed and held and feel their hands rubbing gentle circles in his back and shoulders.

His chest didn’t hurt, his wrist didn’t throb, the cut on his face didn’t sting because they were with him. He couldn’t hear the words they were whispering in his ears but he didn’t need to because they were with him. And that was all he needed.

“Talk to us,” Taeyong said as he pulled back, remaining crouched on the carpet while Mark took the spot beside Renjun, his arms wrapped around the smaller body. The other dream members had left to give them the privacy they craved. “What’s going on with you?”

“I can’t do it,” Renjun sobbed all at once, shaking his head and pawing pathetically at the snot dribbling from his nose.

“Can’t do what, Rennie?”

“I can’t be a leader. I can’t do it. I’m so sorry but I can’t do it. I let you down and I yelled at the others and I lost the song and then I made that girl angry and then I fell down the stairs and everything’s gone wrong and I … I can’t do it.”

He knew he wasn’t making any sense but it didn’t seem to matter to them. They didn’t judge him, they didn’t push him, they didn’t rush him. They just let him take his time, choke on his tears, catch his breath, and continue his testimony.

“I tried to do it right but nothing seemed to work. I haven’t slept, I haven’t eaten, I haven’t finished anything Manager-hyung asked me to do. I … I think I fainted on the stairs or something and I fell and I was lying there and I wanted to die. I just wanted to let the world kill me because it already felt like it was trying.”

“Ren …” Mark whispered, pressing his forehead into Renjun’s shoulder with a sigh of exhaustion Renjun couldn’t help but label as his fault. “You never let anyone down because no one ever expected any of that from you. Just take a look at yourself.”

Renjun didn’t want to. He knew how ugly he looked. How thin. And weak. And disgusting. He already knew.

“You’re damaging your own body,” Mark continued softly and Taeyong was nodding in agreement. “You’re hurting yourself, Rennie, and nothing is worth that. Okay? Not a dance routine, not a schedule and definitely not a stupid song.”

“I’m the oldest though,” Renjun argued, hating the childish whine to his voice but too distraught to change it. “They’re looking at me to lead them.”

“Renjun, Jeno’s only a month younger than you,” Taeyong countered gently, his fingers tracing soothing circles on the hands Renjun had twisting in his lap. “You’re all still kids. No one expects you to be able to handle all this shit. Even I can’t handle it. Do you have any idea how many times I’ve gone to Taeil-hyung or Johnny for help because I had no idea what I was supposed to do next?”

Renjun shook his head. He had no idea. He had no idea at all. Maybe that was the problem.

“This is your job,” Mark supplied, a slight chuckle dusting his words. “And it’s important but it’s fun. Don’t ever forget that, Ren. We do this to get paid but we also do it because we love it. Because the fans love it. Because our families love it. Because we’re supposed to be living the best lives that we can.”

He was right. Of course he was right. But he wasn’t always right. Sometimes he was wrong, because he was only human. And Taeyong was only human. And Renjun was only human, too. They were all just children if you looked at it the right way. They carried the heaviest burden on shoulders that had barely even learned to shave, and all they could ever do was their best.

But that didn’t mean they had to do it alone.

“He’s here!” came a yell from the hallway and the three of them looked up, Taeyong and Mark’s faces splitting into identical grins while Renjun’s brow furrowed in bewilderment.

Who else had they called? Another 127 member? Maybe Hyuck. Possibly Johnny or Doyoung.

“Come on,” Mark giggled, pulling Renjun from the couch with a comforting arm hooked around his skinny waist. “He got the first flight over. The least you can do is meet him at the door.”

That door opened thirty seconds later, Jeno grabbing for the luggage that was passed to him over the threshold before the final newcomer practically burst into the hallway. His head turned frantically, searching for the one person he was most desperate to see, and as soon as his eyes locked with Renjun’s, the two of them were drawn to each other like magnets.

Renjun was crying again, but now they were happy tears, filled with warmth and sunshine and sugar to combat the salt as he leapt into his hyung’s arms, wrapped his legs around the dancer’s waist and burying his face into the crook of his favourite brother’s neck.

“Sicheng-hyung …” he whimpered.

The reply he received in return was everything he didn’t know he needed.

“I’ve got you, Renjunnie.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! And thank you, Junnie_UwU for the request!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos really help my motivation and confidence so if you have a spare moment, let me know what you think! Have a good day :)


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